Stand Still, Look Pretty
by 5R
Summary: A oneshot songfic based on the song Stand Still Look Pretty by the wreckers. Peyton Sawyer's life is perfect. She has everything she could ever want. She's happy, right?


Disclaimer: I do not own One Tree Hill or its characters, nor do I own the lyrics to "Stand Still Look Pretty" by the wreckers.**  
**

**Stand Still, Look Pretty**

_I want to paint my face_

_And pretend that I am someone else_

_Sometimes I get so fed up_

_I don't even wanna look at myself_

Foundation, eyeliner, mascara, these are the masks she uses to hide from the world, everyday the same façade, covering the frightened girl beneath the paint. She has a cheerleading uniform to play dress up in, to give her a safe identity in high school and an automatic "in" with the others. She wears a worn leather jacket to give a slight edge to the peppy pretense and to distinguish herself from her crowd "friends" that she both desperately wants to escape and is terrified of losing. She hates mirrors. She hates the person she sees when she gazes into one. She hates that her reflection is completely unrecognizable. She'll promise herself tomorrow will be the day, the day she lets go of the masks and disguises, the day she'll feel safe in her own skin. But tomorrow comes and goes just as the day before, concealing the real Peyton Sawyer behind the masquerade of "P. Sawyer: Cheerleader, queen bee, and the girlfriend, no not girlfriend, the property, of the school basketball star Nathan Scott."

_But people have problems that are worse than mine_

_I don't want you to think I'm complaining all the time_

_And I hate the way you look at me _

_I have to say I wish I could start over_

Her friends don't know. Her friends don't ask. Her friends are satisfied when she shows up to the Friday night game with a sour smile plastered on her flawless face. She'll shake her fluffy pompons and pretend to watch the game. She'll stand next to her bestest friend and yell and scream along with the enumerable crowd for every faceless jock that drops a ball through a hoop. She'll smile; she'll stand still and look pretty. Her friends don't know. Her friends don't ask. She'll stand alone next to a hospital bed and hold her mother's hand as the machines rhythmically pump oxygen into her flaccid body. She'll fall asleep in a chair next to the surgically clean bed cradling her mother's gaunt form. She'll lock herself up in her sinister bedroom, waiting for the light to fade from the sky outside, listening to angry music that sooths her soul. She'll sketch out the life she wishes she still had, the life she had before her mom got sick with cancer, the life when her dad could still bear to look her in the face.

_I am slowly falling apart_

_I wish you'd take a walk in my shoes for a start_

_And you might think it's easy being me_

_You just stand still, look pretty_

She lets go. She uses a rusted razor blade to cut the white powder into thin lines upon the mirror. She hates mirrors. She rolls up a dollar bill. Three…two…one…She lets go into the thick darkness, numb and heavy.

_Sometimes I find myself shaking in the middle of the night_

_And then it hits me and I can't even believe this is my life_

She's quivering now. She wakes up sweaty, her bedroom lights flickering angrily, her head pounding, her stomach lurching, blood surging through every vein, every artery of her body. The hunger is insatiable, unbearable. She splashes out more cocaine onto the round mirror. God, she hates mirrors, she hates this miserable face staring back at her. She snorts every white grain and remembers no more.

_But people have problems that are worse than mine_

_I don't want you to think I'm complaining all the time_

_And I wish that everyone would go and shut their mouth_

_I'm not strong enough to deal with this_

She doesn't cry. She can't cry, not even as they lower her mother's gleaming casket into the earth, never to resurface. She reaches for her father's broad hand, held limply at his side. She grasps tentatively onto his fingers. He pulls his arm miserably away from his beautiful daughter, dropping his hollow eyes to his wife's open grave.

_I am slowly falling apart_

_I wish you'd take a walk in my shoes for a start_

_And you might think it's easy being me_

_You just stand still, look pretty_

She'll take another hit. She'll drink another beer. She'll slam another shot. She'll smile; she'll stand still and look pretty. She'll let herself fall. She'll throw herself off the edge. She'll throw herself off of a bridge and let herself fall down.

_I am slowly falling apart_

_I wish you'd take a walk in my shoes for a start_

_And you might think it's easy being me_

_You just stand still, look pretty_


End file.
